"Take a seat. Your father's on his way now." Mother says. She's home early from her trip. Something's up, definitely.
I take a seat, sitting still as a stone. "Is there anything wrong, Mother?"
The moment I say that, my father walks in.
"I'm home," his voice echoes.
"Welcome home, Father." He sets his bag on the table and walks over to us. He carefully takes a seat and puts his hands together. What's going on?
"Hana. We need to speak with you about an important matter." Father breaks the silence between all of us.
"After we visited Dr. Suzuki two months ago, she said we needed to go to a specialist in the city so he can run more tests. We made an appointment to go there next week, and you will miss school, but that isn't our main concern." Father begins, Mother stays silent.
If this isn't, what is? I don't have a good feeling about this if they aren't getting to the point already.
"Have you been taking your medicine?" Mother pitches in.
"Every day," I respond.
"There is no easy way to say this. If we visit the specialist, and get negative results back, meaning the damage is worsening, there is a possibility that you will undergo a serious surgery."
"That's why we want to remind you to always take your medicine in the right portion at the right time, and to always double check the dose. We know that you will be careful with such a serious prescription." She speaks sternly.
"I can assure you, Father, that I'm careful. I'll pay extra attention," I assure them. It feel like I'm talking to a doctor rather than my own parents. It's suffocating to sit there and watch her speak with no hint of emotion anywhere I look for it. Doctors show sympathy, at least.
My button up shirt is getting tighter against my chest. Surgery? That can't be. I've heard so much about surgery. What about recovery? What if I'm left impaired, what if something goes wrong? It races through every vein, every artery, every cell in my body. It shakes me to my core and I don't know if the cracks are appearing yet.
"If you'll excuse me." I say. "You are excused," Mother says.
I stand up, take my bag, and head up to my room. I put my bag down by the door and change my clothes. The thoughts won't leave my head, they never do.
Sitting down on my bed, my hands tremble. I can't take it. The capacity of these thoughts are choking me, dragging me down a road I never thought I'd see. A road so cold, yet so scorching hot, so treacherous. I can imagine it. Counting backwards as my senses swirl and disappear before I'm cut into like a guinea pig. An impaired body, a starved soul, an insufficient nothing torn apart only to be fixed and stitched back together again.
A cycle of pain and body scars, infected stitches and pus between the seams. Disgust that invades my eyes and a lifetime of hard bitter pills to be swallowed routinely. An empty life of check ups and looks and insecurities that penetrate the rock bottom of my existence. A torso I'll look at and abandon, never fully accepting.
And it's right there. Sitting in front of me, laughing and snickering at me as I wrap my arms tightly around my ribcage. A resounding eye that pins me down and inspects inspects inspects inspects.
My hands release their sweat and my chest feels as tight as ever. Before I know it, my breath starts running out. There's no oxygen left for me. All the emotions wash through me like a sea and melt my insides.
I wipe my hands on my lap while tugging at the top of my shirt, trying to breathe. I rip my scarf off, throwing it to the ground, unbuttoning my shirt as fast as I can.
I find myself hyperventilating.
In an instant, I hear my laughter when I'm younger. It could be someone else's. It's crazy, that same laughing child is sitting here, on her bed, shredding herself into pieces. Meat before a mandolin, sliced thinly over and over. It feels like a golf ball in my throat.
No matter how hard I try, I can't swallow properly. That's when another part of my body decides to spiral and fail, my eyes. On their own, the tears engulf my eyes and start escaping. They keep going and going, and I want it to stop. I want it to leave me alone and let me process this, because it's not the time for emotions. Creating a swift river, they resort to the end of my chin. They run and run, over and over, and I fall apart.
It's fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I break into sobs, a rough sequence of heaving and eyes getting wiped over and over because I won't do it. I won't watch myself be broken by a possibility but oh god, this is it. Surgery. I'm destroyed and ruined, what's happening to me? Stop crying, it's not the time to be pathetic. Get up and keep moving forward, even as the shards dig deeper inside you, even as you want to scream your lungs out. Stop being irrational. Breathe. Count. Do anything, just stop thinking.
That's all I can do to try and calm myself down, but it just doesn't work. My chest keeps getting tighter and tighter and my head starts spinning. This is an immediate signal. I stumble to the bathroom, wobbling and cross-legged as a violent haze of fast movement and detaching frames tortures me. I collapse against the sink, barely opening the faucet. I need water. Water.
I turn on the cold water and emerge my hands to get that icy sensation to bring me back to the surface of reality. Wash off my sweat, wash off my thoughts. Although they are shaking, they can function, barely. I do what I can and start washing my face.
That seems to help. After a good five or ten minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, sobbing uncontrollably because I lost control of the ring of my emotions. I clench the rug on the floor, sobbing without a peep to the world beyond the bathroom door. I'm able to unlock the door and settle down in bed after dragging myself back. My only comfort is my bedsheets.
I fold myself in them and the tears keep going, even though I've begged them to stop. I have no energy to change, I lay in the uniform all night.
Plugging my phone in the charger, I squirm deeper and deeper in the comfort to escape. I get comfortable before sealing my eyes shut and dozing off. They burn, my entire face feels swollen beyond relief. I black out before I know it.
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Author: Panic attacks are the absolute worst, they suckk. But the nap after 🗣
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Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima
Fanfic'Everything seems to wash away with the tide and it's just two naïve kids staring at each other again, making promises to a future that isn't promised. A world they haven't seen, a life they haven't lived. A journey that's uncertain except for these...
